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Written by John Nkemcho
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As the new day began to unfold, I could see that it was cloudy. It was exactly 7 o’clock in the morning on a Sunday. Everywhere was quiet, and the calmness sort of befuddled me. I quickly dressed up, picked up my Holy Bible, and headed to the Church.
As I walked down the street, I saw no one around. As I passed by the houses, I noticed that all was quiet. “Where is everybody?” I asked myself. I lifted my face, and in my view was the place where the wayward youths usually gathered.
Nothing you said or did could deter them from assembling there. The fruit tree in the area spread its branches like an umbrella, sheltering them from the sun and rain. Sometimes, they broke into songs, much to the chagrin of the adults. They drank and smoked, not bothering to stub out their cigarettes. Instead, they used them to relight another. I knew this because I had preached to them to change their ways.
Whenever I was around them, I restrained myself from plucking the sweet-smelling fruit from the tree, so as not to poison myself with the smoke that flowed to the fruits. I looked at the tree and noticed there was nobody there. “Is everything okay? Is everything alright?” I kept repeating to myself. I contemplated turning back, but there was nobody around. Then it dawned on me that the rapture had taken place. The Holy Bible fell from my grip, but I managed to catch it. “What kind of disaster is this?” I cried out.
Usually, I would start preparing for my Sunday service on Saturdays. Songs and prayers would flow out of my soul in anticipation of the great day. “Look,” I told myself, “He has chosen those who fear Him. Those who worship Him in spirit and in truth, who have repented completely without any inhibitions, wholly for Jesus.” I said to myself again, “How can you reconcile this? The ruffians here have disappeared. The prostitutes in the hotel down the street have disappeared. They usually beckoned me to come over whenever I passed by. I would maintain a sturdy silence, focusing on where I was going. Sometimes, they would cry out, ‘Hypocrite, holy than thou, come let me mesmerize you. Ants don’t lick your sugar. Save yourself from beguiling sin. Holy man, judge yourself.’”
Then, I realized I was standing in front of Papa Jimoh and Papa Janet’s compound. Both of them were landlords, and they drank like fish. One day, both of them accosted me. “The problem you have is that you don’t know that the world is in motion,” Papa Jimoh fired the first shot. “And that one side is bathed in the sun, while the other side is in darkness,” interjected Papa Janet. “Neither does he know that Joshua stopped the sun from going down until he achieved victory,” interjected Papa Janet again. “If we are to follow the explanation of science, it means that the earth stopped revolving just because of one man’s prayer, isn’t it, Papa Jimoh?” “Yes, you are absolutely right. Our question is,” began Papa Jimoh, “Why is your prayer not having an effect on the wind? On the wind of change, to spell it out properly. Or on who evolves as the leader of the country?” They would always ask these questions whenever I was on my way to church. Two educated men, always inflamed by strong wine, and their spirit enthroned in their lives, having absolute control over their thinking and their entire outlook on life.
“I don’t know what you know, but Africans have been at the bottom of the ladder,” began Papa Janet. “Can’t we use prayers to change the situation? Though some Africans love their woeful position, they hold others back.” Another time I was passing by, I decided to make a stopover in front of Papa Jimoh’s residence. He held his bottle of whisky manically, looked at me as if he was about to bring it down on my head. “Today is a great day, just as it will be great the day Africans rise up,” began Papa Jimoh. “Change the situation with the power you have gotten from God. We cannot continue like this,” he said and then backed down and took his seat. “The potency of your prayers seems to amount to nothing, my friend,” said Papa Jimoh as he lifted his glass of wine and downed half of it, gleefully.
Papa Janet looked at me and pointed his finger at me. “Your prayers are nothing but ‘give me all this, give me that, give me this, our daily bread.’ Your fellow commissioned preachers in the Holy Bible, made of flesh and blood like you, took their world by storm through diverse earth-quaking exploits. They changed the general discourse of their time. They altered nature, seasons, to suit and declare their timeless message. We drink; we do one thing or the other. Don’t bring the weight of your judgment upon us. Hypocrite, leave our judgment in the hand of He who went to the cross.”
“He forgave the thief on the cross. If it were you, I wonder just what you would have said to him. The world has already condemned you, and you have rightly condemned yourselves, so let it be.” This morning, I looked very closely at the two houses. There was nobody around; nothing stirred. These two spiritually intense agitators had disappeared. Stunned, I staggered on.
Fearfully, in view, was the moimoi stall where people bought moimoi for their breakfasts. Lately, the white-robed church woman who operated the stall had added akara to her condiments. People called her Mama Twins. I must admit, she packaged these two items with utmost hygiene. People queued to purchase her food. Car owners lined up; while in their cars, she would package the items in large plastic packs and serve them to those in their vehicles. The next day, satisfied customers would troop out to appease their unbridled appetite for Mama Twins’ food.
Each time our eyes met while passing, she in the midst of a tumult her stall had turned into, we exchanged unharnessed greetings. Atop her head was a white cap protruding upwards. With that cap on her head, you didn’t need to guess that she belonged to a white-robed church. I must confess that initially, I didn’t feel comfortable with that. I didn’t view her with disdain solely because of her choice. But the queue kept getting longer.
Misgiving? Who am I to judge another? I rebuked myself inwardly and kept a straight face, an open mind when passing by. I regretted having a contrary view once. For it’s not in my place to know who pleases God.
To be continued…
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